Nicholas had been sentimental enough to write to Christine immediately on landing at Southampton a day or two before this, addressing his letter at a venture to the old house, and merely telling her that he planned to reach the Roy-Town inn on the present afternoon. The news of the scattering of the Everards had dissipated his hope of hearing of her; but here she was. So they met--there, alone, on the open down by a pond, just as if the meeting had been carefully arranged. She threw up her veil. She was still beautiful, though the years had touched her; a little more matronly--much more homely. Or was it only that he was much less homely now--a man of the world--the sense of homeliness being relative? Her face had grown to be pre-eminently of the sort that would be called interesting. Her habiliments were of a demure and sober cast, though she was one who had used to dress so airily and so gaily. Years had laid on a few shadows too in this. 'I received your letter,' she said, when the momentary embarrassment of their first approach had passed. 'And I thought I would walk across the hills to-day, as it was fine. I have just called at the inn, and they told me you were out. I was now on my way homeward.' He hardly listened to this, though he intently gazed at her. 'Christine,' he said, 'one word. Are you free?' 'I--I am in a certain sense,' she replied, colouring. The announcement had a magical effect. The intervening time between past and present closed up for him, and moved by an impulse which he had combated for fifteen years, he seized her two hands and drew her towards him. She started back, and became almost a mere acquaintance. 'I have to tell you,' she gasped, 'that I have--been married.' Nicholas's rose-coloured dream was immediately toned down to a greyish tinge. 'I did not marry till many years after you had left,' she continued in the humble tones of one confessing to a crime. 'Oh Nic,' she cried reproachfully, 'how could you stay away so long?' 'Whom did you marry?' 'Mr. Bellston.' 'I--ought to have expected it.' He was going to add, 'And is he dead?' but he checked himself. Her dress unmistakably suggested widowhood; and she had said she was free. 'I must now hasten home,' said she. 'I felt that, considering my shortcomings at our parting so many years ago, I owed you the initiative now.' 'There is some of your old generosity in that. I'll walk with you, if I may. Where are you living, Christine?'